The television blared annoyingly at Lance, and he glanced over at Joey, sound asleep on the couch, his mouth open, snoring loudly. He had tried, and for that Lance was erernally grateful. He didn't have to come over and try to cheer him up. Smiling, Lance tossed a throw over his friend, then clicked Armegeddon off. Not even the seduction of Hollywood could ease his pain and uncertainty this evening. JC was still sharp on his mind, and he knew that something was a miss, truly a miss.

Quietly, he set the alarm and padded up the steps to his room, replaying the day's events. The airplane had been the worst, being laughed at, tormented right to his face. Jesus, if JC didn't want him anymore, he could take the fucking hint. The tears stung his eyes, and in the sanctity of his home, he allowed them to pool and fall down his cheeks. Anger came with the tears, however, an anger he was unprepared for. His fist hit his bedroom door with such force it caused his knuckles to bleed, the bright, red blood trickling down his hand, dripping in pitiful plops onto his white socks. "Mother fucker!" he hissed, kicking the door open. No, this couldn't continue. If JC wanted to play games, he was going to have to end it. His heart simply didn't work like that. He wore his emotions bodly on his sleeve, and how many times had Joey warned him of that danger. No, JC was going to have to answer some questions, immediately. He'd already let him get away with too much.

Lance sat on the edge of his bed, tugging one sock off and wrapping his bleeding hand in it. With his other hand, he grabbed the phone and dialed JC's number. Fear took him by surprise, and uncertainty. Maybe JC would want to end it, an he honestly didn't know how he would manage to continue the tour, having to look at him day in and day out, not being able to hold or kiss him, and the possibility he'd find someone else, well, that was just torture to even think of. Lance's heart hammered inside, and his pulse raced. He loved JC, it was so plain, but how much could he be expected to take.

"Yeah?" The sleepy voice of his lover floated across the line, and Lance envisioned him, sleeping naked as he always did, his hair sticking up every which way, and his body ached to hold him, or to be held.

"It's me," he said softly, his deep voice barely audible.

"Jesus Christ. Lance? It's the fucking middle of the night. You do know we have a bus to catch in a few hours right?"

Lance recoiled at the harshness of his words. He bit his nails nervously, unwilling to let JC go without discussing matters. In the morning, he'd be on a bus with Joey, while JC rode the other bus, and he didn't want to wait until the venue to talk to him. "Yeah, I know. We need to talk though. I mean, about today. We left things bad, JC, and God, I don't feel right. It's not right. I..."

"Is Joey there? Is he feeding you his usual line of bull shit?" JC was more than a bit aggrivated, and didn't hold back. "Damn, Lance, tell that moocher to get out and stop the crap. Every time the two of you are together, you start freaking out, and I don't know how to deal anymore."

Lance paused to pull the pillow out from under the comforter, rolling the edge of the pillowcase between his fingers. It was mostly a gesture to steady himself, try to find some strength to continue. "Look, it's not Joey. He's here, but it's not him. It's you. Fuck, it's us. I, uh, .." His voice broke up, suddenly waivering. If he went on, he risked loosing JC, and never getting him back.

"Baby," JC's tone calmed a bit. "Didn't I show you how much I loved you ? Couldn't you feel it while we were away? I was with you. Every night."

"I know, but the airplane..." Lance's ears cocked, and he grew silent. He thought he heard another person rustling around in the sheets. His heart stopped and his mouth went dry at the thought. JC was oblivious to the silence, however, and continued where Lance left off.

"I just don't want to be smothered. You know how I am. I need space." JC sighed, tracing little circles on the skin of the person who laid beside him, the person who was not Lance. "God, can't you even give that to me?"

Lance listened carefully for any further sounds, hoping he'd made a mistake. JC was not known for his monogomous behavior, a fact Lance was well aware of before becoming involved. He thought he was different, though, and to his knowlegde, JC had never been unfaithful to him. Still, his gut screamed for him to be still, to listen carefully for any tell tale signs.

"Lance?" JC rolled his eyes and leaned back, as his bedmate made a face, obviously unhappy at having been disturbed. "You there?"

"I am. JC, do you still want me? I mean it. I need to know what's going on."Lance was grasping at straws, holding onto any little hint that JC had the same feelings as he did. A dull ache formed in the pit of his stomach, warning him that all was not right. He forced it away, wanting to believe that it was still good, still real.

The laugh came so unexpectedly, so off key, it frightened Lance, chilling him to the bone. "That's Joey's shit again. Lance, ignore him. He's just a dim witted person who likes to stick his nose where it doesn't belong." JC's bedmate had begun kissing his body, trailing little kisses over his chest, down his belly button, and below. He bit back a moan, and realized he needed to hang up, rinse Lance from his mind. "I'll see you in the morning. We'll talk it all out. I promise." He hung up abruptly, leaving Lance in a fog.

Staring woefully at the dead phone in his hand, he shook his head, unsure of what was going on in his life. Cursing loudly, he tossed the phone down, stripping off his clothes and hurling them across the room to the hamper, missing by a mile. Lance curled under the sheets, feeling so alone, so much pain, he wasn't sure he could even breath. The tears took him again, and he buried his head into the softness of the pillow, feeling the dampness under his cheek.

Thinking back, he wondered how it had gone so wrong. JC and he were the best of friends, looking out for one another, protecting each other in every situation. Becoming involved had seemed natural, and while it confused Lance at first, he accepted it, trusted it because it was JC, and JC was his friend. He'd worried that Justin, Chris and Joey would be angry, dealing with a couple within the group, but they had been supportive, understanding and accepting.

As JC's dominate nature evolved, the group split down the middle, taking sides, often mending spats between the two, until it had blown up. At Chris' insistance, they had taken the vacation, just the five of them, to heal, to talk, to reconnect in some way.

Lance cringed when he recalled Chris' harsh words.

"For fuck's sake, Lance, you're not a peice of meat. Why do you let him treat you like this? He's such an asshole. Why?"

Why indeed, even Lance didn't know. And Joey, forever sticking up for him, his rock to lean on, his words kinder, but the point being the same.

"You're worth so much more than this, Lance. I wish you could see it."

Lance rolled onto his back and stared up into the darkness, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Fuck you, JC," he hissed. While his words were cold, his heart wouldn't grow icy. Deep down he knew JC had him tangled up in his web, and he knew that it would take a lot more for him to leave, deny himself those piercing blue eyes and finely chisled body.

He closed his eyes, and felt the throb of pain surge through his hand, his knucles still aching from the force of the punch. He wished Joey had been there while he was on the phone. From Joey he took strength, from Joey, he took reality.

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